Silvarren's Quest
by SilvarrenSoulstain
Summary: A brief look into the world of Silvarren Soulstain, a character I created in Neverwinter nights. Unfortunately, very little of his quest got implemented, so I had to continue it on my own.


Angel Not

Sleeted shards of water broke upon the man's unearthly pale face, stinging his eyes. The leather armor he wore chafed his shoulders, and his leather boots squished, flooded with water. His teal-colored hair, hanging down between his shoulders, was plastered to his face, forcing him to spit it out every now and then. The torrent of rain coming down in the dimly lit alleyway made the man's journey to the only inn in town all the more bothersome. Candles in the windows overlooking the alley flickered out as wind took them, or as people went to bed. If any had been watching from the street at the moment, they might have walked away from him, quickly. If not because of the strange half-mad light in his eyes, perhaps because of the strange company he kept.

A large raven sat on his shoulder as he trudged towards the light at the end of the alleyway, muttering various banter into it's master's ear. An enormous badger, about three feet long and almost all black, followed the man's sloshing footsteps. Trailing in the large badger's wake, there was a smaller, normal-sized badger, it's only markings the black stripes going up it's face. The rest of it's fur was completely white, or would be if it wasn't being stained yellow by the rain. The three animals looked weather-beaten, but well cared for. All four of the creatures, man, bird, and badgers, intermittently looked from the ground to the brighter light at the end of the alley as they went.

Reaching the door, the man peered at the building's surroundings. The inn's sign hung brokenly by one frail chain, the wind and rain obliterating it's message for travelers. A worn cobblestone road led to the great wooden door of the inn. Beyond the end of the thirty-foot road, the man's eyes could no longer discern shape or form, but he had traveled the town already and knew where most places were. Beyond the road, there was a great open space, and to the right of that, a port that allowed new travelers to visit this island. Beyond the open space there was an elevated plateau, which served as a sort of meeting place for the diverse people who lived in the city. The man with the pale face had little use for meeting people, but he felt compelled to observe them from time to time.

Sighing and turning from the drowning city, the man kicked the door open, his animals scurrying inside.

"Behave," he muttered, looking around the inn.

Imitating his badgers, he shook himself off, shaking the raven free of his shoulder. The raven glided to a nearby stool at the bar, and the badgers followed, waiting for him to take his seat. The man slammed the door closed, shutting out the roar of the storm, and walked to the wooden stool next to the raven. As he sat down, he felt the water seep out of his leather and clothing, chilling his skin and drenching the floor beneath him.

"'Ey, mate. We don't suffer pets in 'ere, least of all wild ones."

The pale man looked to where the innkeeper was pointing. The larger of the two badgers snarled at the burly innkeeper.

"Hey, if you want to try and remove a dire badger by yourself, be my guest. He doesn't like you, though. And he hasn't eaten for some time." The pale man's voice was clipped as he narrowed his ice-blue eyes at the innkeeper.

"Not lookin' for no trouble, stranger," replied the innkeeper. "Just didn't want them to be makin' messes I'll need to clean up."

"They'll be fine," said the pale one, stabbing one more look at the burly man. "Give me a drink."

"Right away, sir," the innkeeper said, visibly shaken.

With a wave of a pale hand, three gold coins appeared on the bar. The pale man turned away from the innkeeper, facing the blaze across the wide open room.

"What's your name, stranger?" he heard from over his shoulder.

"... What's yours?" he muttered.

"Me? My name's Rex," said the innkeeper with a certain amount of pride.

"King of your castle, eh..."

"What?"

"Nothing. I'm called Silvarren," he said with a sneer.

"Silvarren? What kind of name is that?"

"Not much of one," Silvarren said.

He turned around and thrust his face up close in to Rex's. The innkeeper clearly outweighed the strange pale man, but he shrunk back nevertheless. There was something off about this man, the innkeeper knew.

"But I'll tell you a secret," Silvarren whispered to Rex. "It belongs to an angel. The name, that is. So try to be respectful."

Rex's eyes widened.

"An angel, sir? But you don't-"

"Shut up, Rex. You're right. I'm not an angel. Just half of one. Half elf, too. And I was created without wings, my birthright," he said, his voice rising. "Have you ever even heard of an angel without wings?"

He slammed his white hands down on the bar in frustration.

"Neither have I. But I'll search for a way to get them, I will, until I cease to exist in this dream you call life. And then I'll fly anyway." Silvarren's eyes flashed with a half-mad light, making Rex fall back into the shelf where the drinks were kept. Alcohols of all kinds fell to the floor, shattering and smothering the room with a rotten sweet smell.

"Rex," Silvarren stated. "You're not paying attention. Please try to listen when I speak to you. Anyway, as I was saying... where was I?" He paused and looked up, as if watching whatever he was thinking take flight and flee from his head. He looked at Rex, still covered in alcohol and nursing small cuts from the shattered clay and glass. Shaking his head, he reached over and behind the bar, and without looking, pulled out a large blue dish towel. He tossed it absent-mindedly to Rex.

"You forgot about that towel, didn't you?" asked Silvarren. "Yes... your sister gave that to you. She misses you, you know. She thinks about you every day you're not there. Why did you leave, why?" Silvarren shook his head, seeming to regain himself.

"Humans are so eager to leave the comfort of what they know, giving up what is theirs freely, to eke a living out in some other manner," Silvarren mused. "I have yet to figure out why. Perhaps when I find my- Ah yes! My wings. Something is going to happen here that will lead me in the right direction. I don't know what, though."

Silvarren vaulted over the bar and helped Rex up, dusting him off with his hands. Rex was seemingly speechless and numb. Silvarren noticed his eyes were fixed at his own waist, where a mace and rapier hung from his belt.

"See here, Rex, we've got to get you in order here," he chided. "Now, how to clean you up? Ah, I know."

Silvarren closed his eyes and concentrated, recalling the incantation from his memory. Feeling the magic flow through him, he spoke the whispery-sounding words and opened his eyes. Rex looked down at himself and saw he was completely clean. Not only was he clean of the alcohol, but the dirt that his meager baths hadn't been able to get rid of was gone! Rex touched his hair. He could feel no grease or grime at all.

"What? Don't look so surprised. I'm a wizard, too." Silvarren shrugged.

"Th-thanks, mate!" Rex stuttered.

Silvarren cocked his elongated ear towards the door.

"Sorrow, to me," he said. The large raven flew over and perched on his shoulder. "Hatred, Virtue, the door." Silvarren motioned to the door and vaulted over the bar again, landing lithely on his feet. The badgers hurried to get on either side of the door, the larger of the two leading the way. Silvarren turned to look at Rex, fingering his mace and rapier. They began to glow a bright white and hum almost imperceptibly. The door burst inward and two men, one in black plate mail and the other in white, stormed in with the wind howling behind them. They were both wielding great swords.

"I told you something would happen here, didn't I? Enjoy the show." Silvarren cracked his knuckles, muttered a phrase, causing his weapons to burst into flame, and turned to face the men with a sneering grin on his face.

Silvarren flicked some of the blood from his hands onto his dire badger's coat. Tiny flecks of red dotted the animal's hide, along with the smears from where Silvarren had cleaned his weapons off. The rain had stopped just after he had left the bar with the two thugs following him, so Hatred would be stained red for awhile. The smaller badger, Virtue, was now utterly pristine. Something dropped onto Silvarren's shoulder. A disembodied eye. Silvarren sighed and shook his head, looking up into the tree branches.

"Very funny, Sorrow."

The raven threw it's head back and laughed the way birds do.

Silvarren had gotten what he needed from those men. Two insignias, and three words. The insignias on their armor had been that of Phaethd'run and Quan'dir. The words had been "Turn back now." He was on the right track. But the city of good working together with the city of evil? That didn't make sense. He would figure that out later. For now, he would just start towards Quan'dir. He was more comfortable there anyway, and he had friends there. If one could call them friends.

Silvarren whistled to his animals, calling each in turn, and began his trek into the great forest, the dawn light trailing his heels as he hummed a melody he remembered from long ago.


End file.
